


just another avalanche

by chozenone



Series: the meaning of peace [1]
Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New Year's Eve, Non-Graphic Violence, Walk Into A Bar, but irdgaf, rarepair time iktr, so a greaser and a hippie walk into a bar..., this got so... corny near the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:29:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28648344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chozenone/pseuds/chozenone
Summary: New Year’s 1968 — Steve isn’t as alone as he thinks.
Relationships: Randy Adderson/Steve Randle
Series: the meaning of peace [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099478
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	just another avalanche

**Author's Note:**

> hey it’s a been awhile since i posted on here but shit happens. so months ago on tumblr me and my good friend hal (@cannedsquid) were talking about this ship we dubbed “randall-randle” because it’s sort of a opposite’s attract thing bc angry ass greasy fuck with mellowed out hippie freak just sounds fun. neither of us got around to making a full fledged fic up until now. was meant to be an xmas fic based off a prompt now it’s a late new years gift, gotta start the year right! enjoy!

just another avalanche

  
  
❆

  
  
_Dear Stevie,_

_Hey, buddy. I know it’s been a while since I wrote to you, but you know I’m missing you and the fellas somethin’ awful. But how’s life been treating ya? Good I hope. I already know you’re holdin’ the fort down at the DX. Darry was tellin’ me about how you were in talks of getting promoted to being an assistant manager. Glory knows of all people you deserve it. With all that money you could buy a new apartment cause I know your getting sick of livin’ with your old man. I hope your getting along with Ponyboy. It’s been a while since I was there to play Ghandi with you two but he was tellin’ me ya’ll have been gettin along but you’re still a jerk, but I know you mean well. Besides he’s fixin to go to college soon so I know your gonna miss someone to pick on. As for me, I’ve been good. We lost some of our guys in the platoon, but we’re still keepin’ our spirits up. That Ryan guy I’ve been telling you bout has been real helpful with that. Me and him are always joking around and playing cards like how we used to do. Except he’s a dirty cheat like me and better at the game than you, no offense. He’s a nice guy, hopefully you two can meet someday and you can try and smack him over the head when he beats you like how you do me, haha! Other than that,_ _I’m just writing this to let you know they ain’t lettin’ us come home for Thanksgivings this year. Sarges says the enemies would use that time to strike or some shit, I dunno. And ain’t no need to tell the others cause I’m writin’ them letters too. Got extra stamps. I hate it. I really do. I know you and the guys were countin’ on me coming but bosses order, you know? Imma be alright and so will you guys. Keep it easy, okay? I’ll be there in time for Christmas and New Year . You’re still my best pal forever, Steve. And I mean that. Really._

  
_Sincerely,_

_Sodapop ☻_

  
  
  


❆

  
  


“Kid… kid… _kid!_ ”

“Christ!” Steve jumped up when he heard a loud, heavy hand thud on the counter. He looked up to see a bartender with a receding hairline, gold tooth, crooked nose, and a patchy beard. Shit, it almost reminds him of Buck without a mustache. He sees why Buck never cut that thing ‘cause damn this guy looked creepy as hell.

“I’d hate to interrupt your English class, but poetry night was yesterday. What’ll it be?”

For a moment Steve just stares at Buck’s fake cousin, forgetting why he was here in the first place. “Oh, uh, I’ll take one beer.”

The bartender turns around and brews up a fresh, cold glass then slides it over to Steve without even making eye contact. “Have a nice night.” he says in a gritty drawl.

Steve folded the letter up and stuffed it in his pocket. No use in reading it again like it was gonna change something.

When he goes to ask the bartender for a different brand, the guy just ignores him and goes to the back. Guess this was just one of those bars where the bartender is a jackass and hates all his customers. Shit, at least that’s what it seems like. Steve’s been to his fair share of those types recently and honestly? He was starting to like ‘em much better.

He ain’t been to Buck’s in damn near weeks. He just couldn’t stand to be around people he knew anymore. Two-Bit started getting absolutely shitfaced and needed help everytime they went so that was a fuck no and whenever he went alone Buck, Tim, and whoever the fuck else would just treat him like some lonely housewife and ask the same damn questions over and over about Sodapop. Steve’s never been one for lying but after all the shit he’s gritted through his teeth those past few months, he knows he has some explaining to do at the gates.

Shit just got annoying. He turned around in his chair, resting his free arm on the counter and using the other to sip his beer while looking out at all the people in the crowd. Laughin’, jokin’, sweet talkin’ their ladies, playin’ pool and most importantly — leaving Steve the hell alone.

This is what he wanted, what he needed, at least he thinks so. To be drinking around a group of strangers who don’t know his name. This bar was better than some of the other ones he went to. Maybe cause this one was in the downtown area, but Christ those south side bars were damn near archaic like they came straight from a John Wayne movie in a saloon.

Taking a swig of his beer, he looks over to the guys watching the New Years countdown and that’s when Steve remembers why he’s here.

Couldn’t believe it but 1968 was almost here and Steve guesses he has something to look forward to. He turns the big Two-Oh, but that’s about it.

Usually he’d spend it with Soda at the Curtis house but Soda’s down there fighting for his life, Two-Bit and his family went off to see relatives in Texas, and the Curtis brothers’ relatives just had to take ‘em to Oklahoma City for the holidays like they were gonna die of loneliness and heartbreak or somethin’. 

Sometimes Steve thinks about his family in Kansas, but they were his on his mom’s side and well, they don’t want nothing to do with his old man anymore. And as for his dad’s family? He’d rather lynch himself then spend time with those freaks.

There’s also Evie. Steve thinks about her sometimes. She moved away to Georgia last summer. It ain’t nothing like Soda and Sandy, just him and Evie just stopped writing each other letters and talking is all. ‘Sides, Steve figures he was gonna break it off with her soon anyways. She was a cute girl and he had good times with her (really he did!) but he just didn’t see him himself popping the question to her and settling down with her. Sometimes shit just fizzles out. Maybe she’s getting married to some dope right now or knocked up. Nah, she wasn’t that kind of girl, but either way Steve knows she’s probably a grand time in the peach state. Her family was nice too, they would have let him spend the night with them.

As for the Shepards, Tim and Curly were in jail. Nothing out of the blue. The girl one that tried to get Ponyboy killed got knocked up by some weirdo, married him, and moved away somewhere. Not like he was exactly willing to spend any time with _all three_ of them in a room. A headache with a pulse right there.

Okay, so Soda, Curtis brothers, Two-Bit, Evie, and Shepard kids all gone and unavailable. That's really it.

 _Funny,_ Steve thinks. Everyone else was out of town, out of state, out of _country_ , spending time with their families and friends. Hell, even those Shepards probably were having a ball in prison.

All of that and yet Steve was still here. Stuck alone getting hammered in a bar. Stuck dealing with his old man. Stuck with his same job at the DX. Stuck in Tulsa.

He doesn’t give a fuck. He doesn’t. Really.

  
  
  


❆

  
  
  


“Well, it’s eleven. Only one hour ‘till the new year.” That ugly, mean bartender says to no one in particular.

Steve honest to god forgot when he came in here, all he knows is that it's no longer light outside and his beer was warm and stale and only halfway down the mug by now.

For Christ’s sake one of the only reasons he came here was to drink. To get smashed without anybody judging him — anybody he knows, to be exact. When you see a friend get drunk outta his mind you look at him with sadness cause you know his life is shit and that’s the only reason why he’s drinking heavy. When you see a stranger get drunk outta his mind, you look at him with sadness cause _holy fuck this is a grown man standing on a table singing Elvis at the top of his lungs while doing the sock hop._

Steve wanted people lookin’ at him the second way.

Shit, maybe he just wasn’t in the drinkin’ mood anyways. All he knows is he doesn’t wanna go home. His old man was either drunk and mouthing off angry at something or drunk and passed out on his recliner. Either way, drunk. That was the other reason for coming here.

“Whatever.” Steve thinks, nodding his head and getting up from his stool. The second his feet hit the floor his knees start wobbling like crazy and he almost falls flat on his ass, but thankfully he catches himself with the bar counter. Shit, just how long was he sitting there?

Once he regained stability and stopped movin’ like the shitfaced drunkard he _wanted_ to be tonight, he set his mug on the counter and looked around. This bar wasn’t completely shit like some of the others he’s been to. It was almost like Buck’s. Probably a thing or two you could do here.

Over to his left is where he sees the pool table. Bingo.

Steve’s a fuckin’ king at playing pool, if he may say so himself. Almost better at it than fixing up cars. He couldn’t even count how many times Soda would get pissy at him and point the finger accusing him of cheating (how the hell do you even cheat in pool?) and they’d start fighting before Superman or Two-Bit or whoever the fuck would have to break ‘em up. Sounds unhealthy but that was just their thing. Soda was good at cards, Steve was good at pool and they got into it a lot. It’s tradition.

It’s too bad Soda ain’t here, really, but that don’t matter. Steve’s played against plenty of folks who ain’t him, whether it’s other friends or random ass strangers, and he’s only lost a couple of times. What’s the harm in beating another unsuspecting victim’s ass?

He sauntered over to the pool table, slipping his jacket off and wrapping it around his waist while slipping past the crowd of people walking by. A smile was creeping on his lips. Maybe it was the alcohol buzz or maybe it’s cause he ain’t played pool in Christ knows how long but glory was he prepared to whoop some sucker’s ass. Might even bet on it. But the closer he got to the pool tables, the more his nose started to burn like crazy and when he got close enough to see who was hangin’ around his smile dropped.

Hippies.

Of fucking course his nose was picking up funny smells, these jackasses probably reeked of grass.

Steve couldn’t stand those lazy, junkie Lennon-wannabe weird communist freaks of nature. They were multiplying like crazy in Tulsa in recent years and it made him wanna bash his goddamn head in. Christ, if he had a nickel for everytime these dirty, shaggy haired potheads came in the DX stinking the place up of grass asking for their Volkswagen (always a Volkswagen) to get fixed up, he could probably move out of Tulsa.

It didn’t matter. He could probably easily beat one of them, they’re all probably stoned out of their minds anyways.

He walked over to the table on the far right. There was some guy with long blonde hair tied in a ponytail, a bandana, a ratty tie dye shirt, and a pair of those stupid fucking round Lennon glasses hangin’ around there, shooting cues by himself. Before Steve can even speak, the hippie looks up at him.

“Oh, you must be new around here.”

Aw damn it. These freaks are regulars?

“How’d you know?” is all Steve managed to muster.

The guy shrugged. “Just do. Grab a stick and let’s get to it.”

Steve grabbed one of the cue sticks from the wall then pulled out his wallet. “Y’all bet money around here?”

“Nah, man.” Blondie shook his head. “We just do this for fun.”

“Go figure.” Steve mutters under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Huh?” _Shit._

“Did you say go figure?”

“Well, yeah. It’s just your type of people are usually—“

“Your type of people?” Blondie echoed, a little bit too loudly for Steve’s taste. He was startin’ to look pissed and some people were looking over. “You wouldn’t say that to someone who was black would you?”

“Well shit it ain’t like you’re Martin Luther King, are you?” Steve bit back.

“You think I’m poor just cause of the way I look?”

Steve shuffled on his feet, putting all his weight on the stick cue. “Are you?”

Blondie started walking towards Steve like a bull seeing red. Christ, aren’t these people supposed to be relaxed or some shit?

“You know I don’t know who you are, but you don’t have to be an asshole.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Oh, calm your tits. I’m just saying your types usually don’t got money. Hell, if I were you I’d be tryin’ to win money instead of freeloading’ around here like bums.”

Now more of the rainbow posse was startin’ towards him.

“Brother, you don’t understand. We don’t throw cash on small, material, temporary crap like this—“

“But you’ll spend it on shit like mary jane?”

Blondie started walking closer. “No. More like charities.” He creeped closer to Steve, drawling his words out slower. “Y’know. Stuff like food for the homeless, rights for coloreds, stopping the war so that the government stops spending our money on those useless soldiers—“

And in one brief, undecided moment, Steve shoved Blondie. And in another brief, undecided moment Blondie shoves Steve. And in more brief, undecided moments the cue sticks are thrown on the floor, the hippies are crowding around, and both of them are shoving and yapping at each other.

“Bootlicking sheep!”

“Communist faggot!”

Steve didn’t come here to fight, and shit maybe it was the very little booze he had in his system right now talking about but that soldier comment made him see red. It made him see Soda. Soda ain’t useless. He’s down there serving the country and here goes some lice-filled, shit for brains queerbo calling his best friend _useless._

Fuck that.

The bar suddenly got very loud, maybe it was from Blondie screaming “Hit me! Hit me!” or all his hippie minion friends cheering him on or trying to stop it, but he could barely hear or think. All he knows is that he’s going to shatter this asshole’s jaw.

He cocks his hand back, but before his fist can hit anything—

“Fred! Stop!”

Steve’s hand stopped midway in the air and dropped. Another one of those hippies got in between him and Blondie. He looked… different.

He had short curly hair, looked like he’s showered in the past 24 hours, and if it wasn’t for the girly fringe jacket, peace necklace, and tie dye shirt, Steve wouldn’t even have guessed he was also one of these freaks. For a second, he wonders if he would’ve felt bad had he hit the guy. It would be an accident, but it ain’t about hitting the wrong guy that makes Steve think he’d feel guilty. He can’t stand hippies, but sometimes some guys just look like you’d feel bad if you hit them.

It’s normal.

“Fred, don’t do this. Remember what we talked about.” This new guy told his friend.

Steve, still buzzed off violence, intervenes. “Yeah, I suggest you listen to your friend.”

The guy just ignores him, which honestly pisses Steve off even more.

“Fred, come on this is the second time this week.”

“Well it ain’t my fault that asshat got mad! What? You got family or somethin’ getting shot down in ‘Nam?”

In another burst Steve tries to charge, but he’s blocked by this new guy’s arm. He tries to break through for another few seconds before he backs up, glaring at the both of them. All the other hippies immediately crowd around their fan who _could have_ and _should have_ gotten his ass handed to him.

The way they all crowd around the guy reminds Steve of the way the gang used to do when he almost got in a fight. Or when Soda, or Two-Bit, or Dally or any of them almost got into it with some asshole. It just reminds him of the gang. Of an old time. A different time. A time that’s been long gone.

Fuck this. Without thinking, Steve just calmly walks to the boy’s room.

He’s just gotta piss. That’s all. Really.

  
  
  


❆

  
  
  


Hank Williams sounds blurry and muffled behind the bathroom doors, damn near mute. Christ, if it could only be that way all the time.

Steve looks at the hole he punched in the wall then in his reflection in the mirror right beside it. If it wasn’t for the crater he carved in the wall he thinks he could shatter the damn glass right then and there. Just the sight of his eyes being all red and watery was pissing him off.

“Screw this.” is what he mutters when he almost jacks one of the handles off the sink and turning on the faucet. That’s it, he’s going home. His old man is definitely passed out face first on the floor right now and he damn sure isn’t paying for that hole in the wall. Hell, the rest of the bathroom looked like absolute shit. The broken locks on the stalls, the dingy light, the graffiti scribbled all over the walls. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if this was one of the bathrooms where married guys go to suck each other’s cocks like pervers while their wives and kids are at home. This hole ain’t nothing.

Goddamn it. Why for the love of God could he not just have one good night out anymore? It ain’t like tonight was gonna be a golly ol’ grand time in the first fucking place, all he wanted to do was get hammered without his old man nagging him or the guys at Buck’s treating him like a widow, but he can’t even drink. He wanted to play pool yet couldn’t even do that. Shoulda joined those guys over at the poker table, but he probably woulda screwed that up too.

Shit, even _fighting_ didn’t make him feel any smoother. To sock some annoying hippie in his fat schnozzle is something Steve could only know would give him a feeling of cloud nine. Any time he got into with someone it just made him feel better even if his day was already going good. But he couldn’t even do that tonight. For Christ’s sake, it’s like he can’t do a goddamn thing anymore.

Not one goddamn thing.

He starts splashing the warm water on his face, hopefully drowning out the redness in his eyes. He didn’t drink much so he figures he’s good enough to drive home without the fuzz on his back.

Over the rushing water he hears the bathroom door open up. He just keeps his head down, still uselessly splashing his face. It don’t matter that nobody here knows him, it’s still embarrassing as all holy hell.

“Uh, hey, man.” _That voice sounded familiar._ “You forget your wallet.”

Steve looked up at some guy staring straight at him. Short curly hair, girly fringe jacket, peace necklace, tie dye shirt.

It’s _that_ guy.

Steve just glared at him then looked down and yanked his wallet from the guy’s hand and muttered “Thanks.” then went back to the sink. Before he can turn the faucet on, the hippie speaks again.

“You’re welcome.”

Okay. Steve just looks down and waits for the guy to leave the restroom. He doesn’t. Instead he starts up again.

“Uh, when you ran off you forgot your wallet on the table. ‘Was so hectic out there I don’t blame you.”

Steve whipped his head around sneering. “I didn’t run off.” Yes the hell you did. “And why the fuck do you even care?”

Guy just shrugged. “‘Cause it’s your money.”

“Even after all of that? After I almost kicked your friend’s ass?”

“Oh, Fred? He’s kinda new to the group, but yeah he’s kinda an asshole that gets mad easily.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

The guy’s eyebrows shot up then lowered like a light bulb went off in his head. “Oh, I mean like I said it’s your money and I’m not just gonna steal from some stranger. Stopped caring about money a long time.”

Steve snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

The guy shuffled awkwardly on his feet then extended his hand, “‘Names Randy.”

Randy. Huh. That name sounded real familiar, like Steve read it in a book somewhere.

This _Randy_ guy kept his hand out but Steve didn’t bother shaking it and went back to stare down at the sink. Again, the guy doesn’t leave. Just starts up and taps his mouth.

“Are you okay?”

The question rang through Steve’s head loudly. Christ, this was Buck’s all over again, he hated this damn question.

“I’m good, thanks.”

Randy just stares at him. “Are you sure?”

Steve could feel his face starting to scrunch. “I’m sure. Thanks.” he gritted.

“I mean really if you aren’t then—“

“ _Look,_ Rufus,” Steve lunges closer towards him.

“It’s Randy.”

“Whatever.” Steve bit back. “I don’t know you, you don’t know me, so stay outta my fuckin’ business, alright? Just cause I didn’t smash your buddie’s head in don’t mean I can’t smash yours.”

“Then swing.”

Steve froze. “Huh?”

“Swing.” Randy repeated. “Go on.”

“Listen, buddy—“

“Go ahead. I ain’t gonna leave you alone.” Randy said. He just had a look on his face that Steve wanted to smack the shit out of. The guy didn’t have a smile, but had this smug look that said “I’m staying put.” He might be taller, but Steve can take care of this.

He cocked his fist back and struck across Randy’s jaw, but not with all his might. The guy was just some pansy hippie, Steve wanted to go easy on him.

Randy leaned back with the punch then held his jaw gently in his palm for a moment before locking eyes with Steve. His face went dark before a shit-eating grin spread across his face. “Suit yourself.”

Before Steve could even open his mouth to ask what that meant, a fist suddenly flew towards his nose, causing him to stumble backwards and throw his back to the wall.

“What the hell…” He held his fingers to his nose to check for any redness but nothing showed up. He quickly shuffled back on his feet glaring at Randy. “You asshole! You could’ve broke my fucking nose!” He charges towards Randy, tackling him and the two begin struggling on the ground.

Nevermind the disgusting shit from a public restroom floor that was taking shelter on his clothes and multiplying or the loud banging of the stalls and walls that people could probably hear outside or the fact that he’s a _grown man wrestling in the fucking bathroom of a bar_ , Steve just wanted to kick this hippie’s ass.

And from the looks of it, that wasn’t gonna happen.

Steve ain’t never seen a hippie that could fight like this unless they were doped on crack. Most of the hippie guys he saw were limp-wristed, twig-armed sorry excuses for “men” who could barely hold a pound of grass. Not this guy, though. He was good at dodging licks while Steve seemed to be good at taking them.

After a couple minutes Steve just gave up. “Alright, alright! I give.”

When he stopped moving, Randy did too, keeping him pinned down to the floor. It was silent except for their heavy breathing. If Steve didn’t know any better he’d say this guy is a fucking fa—

“Better?” Randy breathed, grinning like the jackass he is.

“Whatever.” Steve grunted. “Get off me.”

Both of them scrambled to get up, dusting whatever crap it is on the floor that got on their clothes. Steve glanced over at Randy, who was adjusting the fridges on his jacket.

“Go on and tell your friends you beat my ass.”

Randy’s head snapped up, showing raised eyebrows. “Hm? Why would I do that?”

“Hell if I know, you tell me.”

“I’m not. ‘Sides, you seem you like been embarrassed enough tonight.”

“Fuck off.” Steve spat. “Anyways, where did you learn to fight like that?”

“Just somethin’ I picked up when I was in high school.” Randy shrugged. “You think just cause I’m some ‘peace and harmony’ love child that I couldn’t fight?”

“I never said that.” _He thought it._

“Yeah, well you ain’t the first guy who’s tried it.”

“Whatever.” Steve mumbled, brushing past the “love child” or whatever the hell this guy wanted to call himself. Just as he was about to open the door—

“Hey, you never told me what was wrong.”

Steve rolled his eyes, letting out a humongous sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t you got friends out there worryin’ about you or somethin’?”

“It’s cool, I told them I was taking a shit.” Randy answered a bit too happily for Steve’s liking. “They’re all probably boozed outta their minds right now, they started drinkin’ when I came in here. I’m drivin’ tonight so I can’t—”

“Yeah, I don’t give a shit about all of that.” Steve interrupted. “I just wanna know why you’re so hellbent on knowing my business.”

“‘Cause I was watching you from the counter.”

Steve felt his face scrunch. “You were watching me? The hell are you some type of stalker or something?”

Randy held up his hands. “Hey, you were the one looking at people all suspicious and shit for no reason.”

“So?”

“So you don’t got any friends tonight.”

“Listen, freak—“ Steve took a step towards Randy, but Randy stepped backwards.

“Look, I ain’t sayin’ it to be a smartass. I’m just saying it uh…” He shuffled on his feet, walking over to the wall and sliding his back down to sit on the floor. “It kinda reminded me of myself. Back when I lost all my friends.”

“I didn’t lose all my friends. They just ain’t in town. Sorry I’m not a loser like you.”

“But you feel alone don’t you?”

Steve folded his arms, glaring. “I know you freaks think you’re god-sent fortune tellers or whatever, but just cause you do acid don’t mean you know what’s going on with me.”

Randy‘s eyebrows shot up. “My bad, man. I just thought since you tried to fight me and my friend in some rundown, fucked up bar with vomit over the bathroom floor that maybe something was wrong in your life but I guess you’re just naturally a violent, alcoholic asshole that likes to pick fights and be a nuisance in public.” He shrugged. “But not a loser, right?”

Fuck. This guy’s good.

“Okay, look.” Steve unfolded his arms and went over to sit by Randy, ignoring the puddle his right shoe was soaking in. “I wasn’t tryin’ to fight nobody tonight but you keep naggin’ the hell outta me and your friend kept talking all that shit about the guys down in ‘Nam and it just… set something off in me.”

Randy nodded with a hum. “You got any friends over there?”

“Yeah, my best friend.” Steve said. He looked up at Randy. “You?”

Randy shook his head. “Nah, I just see shit like that all the time. ‘Sides, my best friend died a long time ago.”

“He got killed in combat?”

“Nope. Some kid stabbed him.”

“That’s fucking terrible, I hope they caught the bastard and locked him up.”

Randy shrugged. _He likes doing that a lot._ “Eh. The kid didn’t get locked up but ended up paying a price for it anyways.”

“Huh.” Steve glanced down.

Randy continued. “It’s all in the past now, but look, Fred’s an asshat. He just doesn’t fully get how this shit is fucking with everyone and I’m sorry that made you mad. Your friend ain’t a coward.”

“I know he ain’t.” Steve reassured. “It just pissed me off. I mean he couldn’t even be here for Thanksgivings, or Christmas, not even tonight. His brothers and the rest of my pals not even town, spending the night with their families. Shit, it’s like I got no one.”

“I know the feeling all too well.” Randy nodded. “After my senior year I didn’t know what to do. My best friend is dead, my friends and my girlfriend were all moving away for college—“

Steve almost choked on his spit. “Wait, you had a girlfriend?”

“Huh? Yeah? Why do you sound so surprised.”

“Nothing. Keep going.”

“Oh, uh, well what I’m trying to say is that I get being lonely and feeling like nobody’s there for you.” Randy consoled softly. “I mean shit, even before the year was up I had felt alone in my mind. Everyone was so caught up in worrying about stupid shit like money and cars and fighting. I was sick of it. So when my friend died I just decided to say ‘Fuck it’ and move on. Could’ve gone somewhere like Harvard or Yale like the rest of ‘em, but I decided to stay here. This town needs some love.”

Steve snorted. “So you decided to stay here to smoke grass and jack off to Lennon?”

Randy started laughing, which made Steve grin for some reason.

“It’s more than that.” Randy said. “It’s about wanting peace not just for yourself, but for others. It’s about spreading peace to places and people who need it. People like you.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Well that’s all peachy keen, Ronnie—“

“Randy—“

“That’s what I said.” Steve corrected. “It’s all sweet and dandy, but I just came here for a drink. I swear.”

Randy put his hands up in surrender. “Hey, that’s cool. I’m just sayin’ no one should be spending the holidays alone. Not even an angry little munchkin like you.

If anyone else had said that, Steve would’ve either decked them in the jaw or cursed them out, but instead that made him grin. Strange.

“Ah, fuck off, Ronald. What’s your game? You tryin’ to get me to sign some shit for the Salvation Army?”

“Nothin’ like that.” Randy said. “I just don’t want anyone feelin’ alone.” He smiled.

Steve just smiled back, not saying anything.

Before he can open his mouth to say something, a yell comes from someone outside. _“Twenty more seconds!”_

“Oh, shit.” Randy exclaimed. “Guess it’s time.”

They both stood up looking over to the door and listening to the crowd outside.

“Five… four… three… two… one… _happy new year!”_

Randy turned to Steve, grinning sheepishly. “Well, happy new year.”

“Happy new year.” Steve echoed.

“Oh shit, I just remembered my friends said they wanted to get outta here after twelve.” Randy suddenly recalled. He turns on his heel, but before his hand reaches the handle, he turns back around. “Oh, by the way, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Steve.”

Randy walked back towards Steve, pulled out a black marker and pulled down the sleeve on Steve’s sweater.

“Woah, what the hell are you do—“

“Hold on.” Randy said. He popped off the cap with his mouth then scribbled on Steve’s arm shortly before yanking the sleeve back up and stuffing the marker in his pocket. “That’s my number. If you need anything, just ring me up. See you!” He said before running off.

Steve watched as he left the bathroom before pulling his sleeve back down, thanking Jesus Joseph Mary Christ that he’s paler than a fucking ghost.

When he finally walked outside to the bar area, Randy and his group of freaks and geeks were gone. Steve just looked back to his arm.

Maybe, just _maybe,_ this was going to be a happy new year after all.

Really.

  
  
  


❆

  
  
  


_Dear Sodapop,_

_Hey, bud. I know it’s been a while since I wrote back to you, but I just didn’t know what to say. But I was also expecting you to be here so I didn’t think I’d need to write anything, whoops. How was your New Year’s? Hope you and the guys got boozed up real good. Your sarge sounds like a real jackass though so I’d doubt it. Either way, I hope you had fun. And before you start picking up the pen, it’s no hard feelings about you not making it for New Year’s. I was disappointed at first, even made Ponyboy set up a place on your old bed for the occasion, but it’s fine. It ain’t your fault that you’re there, Soda. It’s not. You’ve always been a stand up guy so I know you’re there doing what you gotta do. I’m doing good over here in Tulsa and I know you’re doing good out there. Sorry to get all girly on you, I just had to let you know cause I know these letters don’t get there quick. Anyway, I can’t wait to meet that Ryan guy, but you better remind him of who your original best friend is, haha. But seriously, Pepsi, stay safe cause I love ya. And I mean that from the bottom of my heart. Really._

  
  


_Forever your friend,_

_Steve ☆_

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for those that actually read this mess of a ship. kudos and comments are appreciated as always. find me on tumblr @randlewrld and i hope you enjoyed xx


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